


A Unique Situation

by allthemagicthings



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Coma, Dumb Decisions, Fix It, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Queliot Week, Rambling, Reunion, alternate 2: Reunion, just a tiny bit of angst at first, probably, queliot reunion, s4, the next tag is a spoiler so if you wanna read it now do that, this might be the start to a series but idk, tropey af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 23:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthemagicthings/pseuds/allthemagicthings
Summary: Quentin really wants to stay at Eliot's bedside until he wakes upor: The Queliot reunion we deserved(Queliot week 2019; Alternate 2: Reunion)





	A Unique Situation

**Author's Note:**

> the biggest thank you to the most amazing beta [kh530](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kh530/pseuds/Kh530) (Ily sam)  
> this is some tropey fluffy stuff I really wanted to get out of my system and Queliot week gave me a good outlet for that (though it might grow into the s5 au I have been talking about, who knows)

Usually Quentin avoided hospitals. Since he was a child he had been creeped out by the bright unnatural lights, the sharp scent and the general aura of pain and death surrounding those places. It had only gotten worse after he’d been institutionalized and unbearable after Julia trapped him inside his own mind.

  
  


He never would have pictured himself voluntarily staying inside of one for multiple days, but after everything he went through to get Eliot back, staying at his bedside until he woke up was the easiest thing to do. Or at least that was what he told himself. After some hours had passed he had realised the worst thing about hospitals: the silence.

  
  


So he started to talk to Eliot, about useless things, dumb things at first, but hours grew into days and eventually the pent up emotions won over him. 

 

“Don’t you dare die on me, Eliot Waugh. Don’t you fucking dare. Not now.” Quentin was clutching his hand, it was cold and lifeless but it was _Eliot’s._ No Monster, no sister, no gods meddling with their lives just Eliot’s hand and Eliot’s faint heartbeat, only audible when Quentin placed his head on his chest, reminding him that it’s going to be okay.

  
  


“You have to wake up, you know, because you still have some explaining to do. You’re sending me mixed signals, you know that?” He sighed. “I would forgive you in a second. It’s dumb, really, you were a complete dick and I should let you suffer. You should have to fight for me, El, after rejecting me like that, but I don’t have it in me to punish you with distance, I’d be punishing myself and I don’t deserve that. I’ve been through enough.”

  
  


Quentin didn’t know if Eliot could hear him and he wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. After all, when he had told him “ _peaches and plums”_ and “ _fifty years”_ , back in that one short moment when it wasn’t an all-powerful Monster staring at him through Eliot’s eyes, but _him._ Those could have just been words Eliot had used to prove it wasn’t the Monster talking, instead of  the love confession Quentin hoped it was. He had just decided that he would worry about that when Eliot woke up and rejected him again, instead of moping around him for a week.

  
  


A week. That’s what the doctors had said would be how long it would take him to wake up, probably less. It had been three days. Eliot could wake up any minute. Quentin had barely moved the last three days, except when Margo forced him to get into a bed and take a shower. “Stop worrying, Coldwater. He’s safe and stable, he just needs a couple of days to heal, don’t be a cock.” She was a total hypocrite, staying by Eliot’s bedside at least until Quentin returned, if not longer, he just didn’t mind.

  
  


Sometimes, in between the bickering and teasing she would just slump down next to him, arms gripping him tight, silent tears expressing the exhaustion, the weariness and the utter joy about both of them still being here, about Eliot being okay and the nightmare finally being over, better than words ever could. Eliot just needed to wake up to make the world a perfect place again.

  
  


“I am not telling you you have to choose me, that’s your decision.” He played with Eliot’s fingers, hoping they would just grip him tight. “I’m just saying that we would have the most amazing second life together; this time without anything to solve except our own issues. Yeah, they’re probably what you’re running away from anyway but consider: no limitations. We have technology, freedom and magic, we could do anything.” Margo had put some of his rings back on his hands. Quentin hadn’t remarked on it but he was grateful, Eliot practically never took them off.

  
  


The Monster hadn’t worn any jewellery  There hadn’t been any metal of Eliot’s rings on the hands pressing up against his throat when the Monster had tried to hurt him. This was Eliot, this was safe.

  
  


“We could finally watch the last season of Game of Thrones, but I’ve heard that’s a let down. I bet we could still have fun watching it, though, make funny comments and laugh. You could finally cook all those fancy dishes you were telling me about in Fillory, now that we can easily get the ingredients.” The hand remained inanimate.

  
  


“We could move to some other place with less people and more sunshine. Or we could travel at least, see the entire world. We could be happy, you and me, the way we were in our last life, only with Margo and Julia by our side to make awesome bridesmaids and then godmothers and-” He laughed. “I’m probably moving too fast. I don’t want to overwhelm you, it’s just- you’re pretty much leaving me hanging here and you know how I get when no one stops my rambling.”

  
  


What he would give, just to see a little twitch on his face, a tiny quiver, just anything to indicate he was truly there. “I think you should stop me before this gets too embarrassing.” He wouldn’t even be able to watch the slow rise of Eliot’s chest if he didn’t focus hard enough. “Please do that.” His voice broke and just like that the tears were falling down his face again, hitting the pristine white hospital sheets. “Please tell me to stop, tell me to stay or to leave, I don’t even care anymore just say something.” No change, no reaction. Quentin let go of his hand.

  
  


“I’m sorry. I don’t wanna rush you, the doctors said it might take at least four more days and you should take your time to heal. I’ve just… I’ve really missed you.” He buried his face in his hands crying openly.

  
  


He didn’t know how much time passed until he felt movement next to him, a hand soothingly rubbed his shoulder. For a second he freaked out, thinking Eliot had woken up and found him like this, but those weren’t his hands. It was Margo offering him silent companionship. They sat like that for a while, Quentin clutching onto her for dear life, until she pulled away.

  
  


“You’ve been here for 24 hours. You look like death and your breath smells the part. You need to go home for a while.” Quentin shook his head, he couldn’t, not now.

  
  


“Hey, I’ve got this. Just go home, you don’t want him to wake up and see you like this, do you?” she continued in a manner that would be pretty untypical for her, if it wasn’t for her two best friends being in such dire situations.

  
  


He let out a laugh through the tears. Honestly, he didn’t care what he looked like as long as Eliot woke up, but he knew that she was right.

  
  


“I’ll be back in a few hours,'' he said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. He really didn’t intend to stay away longer than that.

  
  


-

  
  


Sixteen hours. He had slept for over _sixteen hours_ how was that even possible?! Quentin stared at his phone in shock, before sprinting to the bathroom. His hair was a mess. He had  showered and had fallen asleep while it had still been wet. It didn’t matter. He had to hurry. He had to get back to Eliot as soon as he could.

  
  


The doorbell rang while he was brushing his teeth. He had decided to ignore it, hoping someone else was at the apartment--but no such luck. It rang again and again until Quentin hastily put the toothbrush away and threw on a shirt over his boxer shorts.

  
  


He opened the door still feeling grumpy and mad at himself, but every emotion, every thought he had escaped the moment he saw who was behind it.

  
  


This was a dream, it had to be. Yes, there was a slight chance Eliot had woken up while Quentin had been asleep, but him standing right there in front of him? Wearing a fucking vest, hair styled as if he hadn’t been in a coma for the last three days and trapped inside his body for so many more? Impossible.

  
  


They both stood perfectly still. There were some things that didn’t make Eliot seem like an old Brakebills memory, scruff on his face and neck, his hair longer than he would have previously ever allowed, a vulnerable expression in his face, a cane he was leaning onto and which looked strangely familiar. Eliot smiled. “Hey.” It was barely more than a whisper.

  
  


Quentin didn’t care if this was a dream or not, when he stepped into the apartment he threw himself at the man before him hugging him closer than he’d ever have dared to, burying his face in his chest and yes, it smelled like Eliot, it felt like Eliot and he never wanted to let go.

  
  


“Are you real?” he sobbed into his shirt, not caring how desperate it would come across. Eliot’s arms around him felt real, his face buried in Quentin’s hair, his body pressed against him. Eliot pulled away, looking into his eyes as he continued, “Because not being real would be really fucking cruel of you. I don’t know if I could forgive you right now if you vanish into thin air.”

  
  


“I’m real. And I’d love to hold you for much longer but-” He pointed at his stomach, “Still healing, gotta be careful.” Quentin nodded. He wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure what. He had spent so much time talking, had figured out the perfect way to welcome Eliot back. His mind was empty now; his heart was filled all the more, beating with excitement and joy.

  
  


Quentin’s whole body was trembling, there was no way for it to contain all those intense emotions at once, releasing some through tears but it still wasn’t enough. He still felt as if he were on fire as if there was no way to stay in the state he was in for longer than a few moments without burning to a crisp.

  
  


Nevertheless, time went on and Eliot’s hands found his. They weren’t cold anymore; they were warm and strong, his thumbs almost burying themselves into the flesh of Quentin’s hand, making him feel connected, slowly pushing his soul back into his body. He concentrated on breathing.

  
  


“I heard you, Q. You know that?” Quentin looked up at him, head slightly tilted. “Every word you said. I was listening.” He started playing with Quentin’s hand the same way Quentin had played with his for three days.

  
  


“Oh.” He looked down again, eyes glued to the floor. That wasn’t good. Yes, he had hoped Eliot would be able to hear him. He had been honest with him the whole time and he had figured he wouldn’t mind Eliot knowing these things but now? Seeing Eliot standing right in front of him after so long? He was way too real, way too close and way too beautiful for Quentin to handle.

  
  


Eliot wanting him like that sounded like a joke, like a dumb daydream he had made up. It was nothing but senseless hope he had given himself when Eliot had become more of a concept than a person, someone he hadn’t talked to in almost a year, except for a stolen moment that should have been his last. This was normal everyday life, this was a King standing in front of an idiot in a T-shirt and Boxers. “I’m sorry for that I was just. . . rambling.”

  
  


A hand let go of his to tilt up his chin until he was looking into Eliot’s eyes again. ”Don’t. I know that look I know what your brain is doing, and I hope you can try to believe me more than that voice.” He really had gotten to know him in those fifty years, Quentin thought. “Because I loved it and I want to say yes to every last suggestion, but you have to say yes first.” That was a lot to process.

  
  


It only got worse when Eliot knelt down in front of him. “Eliot, what are you-”

  
  


“Quentin Coldwater, I made a terrible mistake in ever letting you go.” He was fumbling with something in his pocket, “And I won’t repeat it again. I know this is crazy, but I don’t care. I need to show you how fucking serious I am when I tell you that I need you in my life and that I would choose you in every version of it.” This wasn’t happening, this was to much, he would wake up any second now. “I am so sorry that I hurt you, that I pushed you away and belittled you like that. It’s my biggest regret.”

  
  


Quentin wasn’t waking up. But this _had_ to be a dream. “So please let me make it up to you. For the rest of my life, let me work to make you happy every single day--” Eliot slipped a ring onto Quentin’s finger, a way too familiar ring, how was this even possible? “Until you are the happiest man alive. So now, if you want to make me the happiest man alive, will you marry me?” Eliot bit his lip. He was clearly nervous that this was something that was actually happening, that he was allowing himself to be brave, to be with Quentin.

  
  


He was pretty sure he would faint; he had no control over his mouth but he could hear the whispered “Yes.” Hope gleamed in Eliot’s eyes but he knew this was no answer. “You are crazy but so is this entire situation and- Yes. I want to marry you. Yes. Yes. Yes, Yes,Yes, Yes of course I want to marry you, yes-” He could only be stopped by Eliot’s lips on his. The kiss didn’t really work out at first. Eliot had been smiling and giggling and Quentin had been too stunned, but they eventually found their rhythm.

  
  


Quentin tried to be careful, to stay away from Eliot’s wounds and not press his whole body against him. At least he could find consolation in the hand curling against his neck. He just loved how Eliot did it every time, had missed it whenever someone else kissed him. This just felt... right.

  
  


Sadly they had to pull apart way too soon, trying to catch their breaths. “You’ve lost your mind. This can’t be a good idea.”Quentin laughed.

  
  


“It probably isn’t. Margo would agree, too. She almost didn’t let me go when I explained why I had to get something from the cottage and into better looking clothes.” Quentin could only imagine ways in which Eliot had managed to convince Margo _fucking_ Hanson to let him get out of the hospital bed only hours after waking up from a coma. “But you went on a limb when you asked me to give it a shot. God, you were so brave even though that was a little crazy too. So I thought I’d just need to. . .” The memory stung, even after hearing Eliot apologize for it, “To be brave, I guess. To go out on my own limb and do something _extremely_ crazy.”

  
  


Eliot was right. This was an immensely stupid idea. They couldn’t be engaged before they even properly started dating. Where were the people with braincells when you needed them to stop you, because no way in hell was Quentin going to decline. He tried telling him, opened his mouth, closed it again, no words coming out. Eliot seemed to sense some of the insecurity anyway.

  
  


“Look, I know that this is a lot. I had a long time to think this through and I came to the conclusion that we can’t follow the norms. Hear me out: This is a unique situation.” Quentin just nodded along to his words. “Yes, we haven’t been with each other for long or, well, at all, but we also have been with each other for fifty years and raised a child together. Technically, we never got divorced so maybe we are still married in a way?”

  
  


“El, I highly doubt that’s how it works. This isn’t even the same life maybe we shouldn’t-” Quentin took a step back, his head was swimming.

  
  


“Look, I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I just want to show you how serious I am. No, we shouldn’t _actually_ get married any time soon, but that’s not what this is, Q.” Eliot took his hand, a thumb stroking over the ring. “This is not a timer, it’s a promise. I promise that I will believe you, that I want you in my life more than anything, that I will fight for you. If you wanna step out of the engagement at any time, it’s okay. I won’t be mad and it won’t change anything about our relationship.” That surely eased Quentin’s anxiety down a bit. “This is something _I had to do,_ after letting you down, this is me putting my cards on the table.

“And yeah, maybe we shouldn’t be telling people yet, Christ, there is no chance they won’t yell at us about how dumb of an idea this is.” If Quentin concentrated hard enough, he could _hear_ Julia trying to make him rethink this. “We’ll take out time, all the time we need. I just needed to make this right, I just wanna see this ring back on your finger, where it belongs.”

  
  


The ring. It was hard to decide what he wanted to stare at, Eliot or the ring Eliot had given him, 5 minutes and almost 50 years ago. One of two matching rings, which used to adorne hands marked with colorful chalk, hands moving tiles and lifting up a small boy, hands holding each other. Quentin could feel the tears fill his eyes again. “El, how did you even get it?”

  
  


Eliot scratched the back of his neck. “Funny story, actually. I went back to our cottage and I found it there, along with plenty of other things we left behind.” Quentin couldn’t do much but stare at him in shock. What strange day it was, Eliot talking so much and Quentin being the one to stay silent for most of it. How the tables had turned.

  
  


“I wanted to tell you, after we got magic back. Well, I doubt I would have done it but telling myself I would made me feel less guilty.” So their life together hadn’t been a simple memory, there was more, they had left marks and maybe even-

  
  


“Do you think Teddy exists? Our grandchildren? Or their descendants, at least? Do you think that we could find them, if we tried?  In Fillory? I know it might be weird, they could be older than us and those situations are just- I mean how awkward was that whole River Song storyline in Doctor Who, you know, if you look back, we could end up in a similar situation, but different because we-” Eliot started grinning and Quentin had realised he had gone back to his old rambling self. Well, his fiance (It didn’t take Quentin long to realise how much he liked the term) had known what he had gotten into when he had given him the ring.

  
  


“I think anything is possible.” It was the first time Quentin let that particular hope flare up in his heart. From the moment his son had been born he had known that one day he might have to leave him and he had been prepared for that. He would have never imagined that he could have both- the family he had found at Brakebills and the one he had made himself in Fillory- at the same time.

  
  


“But-” Eliot continued, "I also think it’s a problem for another day. I'd love to get to the bottom of it but I need to see Margo and then. . ."

  
  


Quentin's interest peaked. "Then what?"

  
  


"Then maybe, after all of this settles, we could try out some of the ideas you told me about. Try having a good life, for once. Be happy." It was clear to him that Eliot didn't truly believe in, but he was so clearly trying to make it a reality, for him, for Quentin.

  
  


Yes, life was never this easy and problems didn't just vanish, but they finally had each other. They could work on the rest. The next big issue would occur and Quentin would stop trying to play the hero. Instead he would lean back, content with the man he loves in a life full of possibilities and everyday adventures.

  
  


It was a good thought, Quentin decided. The kind of thought he should cling to, before his brain betrayed him again. It probably was an unrealistic expectation, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. No matter what came next, he wouldn’t be left alone with it. The ring only proved him right. And right now all that mattered was that the man he loved was safe in his arms.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> is it to early to thank sam a second time? Idc really, that last sentence was all them (along with other stuff bc they're a great help) so shoutout where shoutout where shoutout is due
> 
> I have the same username for basically aanything so find me on tumblr as [allthemagicthings](https://allthemagicthings.tumblr.com/) and on twitter as [allthemagithgs](https://twitter.com/allthemagicthgs)


End file.
